• “Like, legit, we were five feet away from him,” said Hana excitedly to the man sitting next to her, trying to seem older than her eighteen years.

    “’Legit’ isn’t a word, sweetheart,” replied Morgan coolly with a half-smile. “The last person I heard use that word was seven years my junior, my best friend’s little sister.”

    “I’m not sixteen,” Hana shot back quickly…a little too quickly, she realized. Morgan raised a knowing eyebrow at her.

    “I’m eighteen,” she mumbled guiltily, glancing down into her non-alcoholic drink.

    Morgan sipped on his Jack Daniels, contemplating the girl sitting next to him. “Hana,” he said finally, “what are you doing here? Honestly.”

    Hana shrugged mindlessly. “I just wanted…to go out, I guess.”

    He laughed, a short, harsh bark. “Then why aren’t you at the country club, hm? With your other posh, pretty, B+ average girlfriends, and the jock boys you like to ********? Why aren’t you out in happy little goody two-shoes world, where you belong? You’re just a fake, Hana. Don’t try to be something that’s not meant for you just because you think it’s cool,” he said harshly, bored with her act. “Go home.”

    Hana’s eyes burned with shame and tears as she stared at her hands. Morgan’s words rang with reverberating truth in her head. She quietly laid down a twenty on the bar and turned to leave. As she stepped away, she heard Morgan snicker lightly to himself.

    Brimming with fury, she steeled herself, and roughly spun Morgan around on his barstool, making him splash a bit of his drink.

    “You listen, you arrogant jerk,” Hana said, voice thick with hurt, “You don’t know me. You think you do, but I know you don’t know the first thing about me. I came here tonight to get away from—from the posh little girls and the—the jock boys we like to ********. I came because I don’t want to be Miss Goody Two-Shoes anymore! I wanna be bad, get dirty—”

    “Be naughty,” mocked Morgan softy. “Look, darling, you wanna be naughty, you’re in the wrong place. This is where you come when you want to get in trouble. You want naughty? Go find yourself a webcam and a—”

    Hana reached out and swiftly smacked Morgan across the cheek. “******** you, Morgan,” she seethed. “I hate you. I hate you so much. You don’t know anything about me.”

    Morgan laughed derisively, and Hana lifted her hand to strike him again, but Morgan caught her wrist. “No, you listen, little missy,” he snarled. “You keep saying I don’t know you like you know me. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know anything about the true meaning of being bad, of getting dirty. You think you’re different from the stereotype, but you’re not. I’ve seen your kind over and over again. Your virgin mind couldn’t even begin to wrap itself around the dirty things I’ve done. You want dirty?”

    He pushed himself into her personal space, his lips barely an inch from hers. Hana tried to shrink away, but he wouldn’t allow her to. “Try murder,” he whispered in a deadly serious tone, “try drug dealing. Try prostitution. I’ve tried them all, still do them all, and you want to talk to me about dirty? I used to be just like you: naïve, popular, good enough grades to do whatever I wanted, but I couldn’t stand being the goody two-shoes. So this is what I’ve become, some degenerate the world despises and looks down upon. Is this what you want, Hana? This?”

    Hana searched deep in his eye, saw the pure corruption and dark pain in them, and breathed her answer, “Yes.”

    Without a moment’s hesitation, he hungrily claimed her peach soft lips, attacking them as if he could remove some of her innocence with the mere force of a kiss.

    They pulled apart, and Morgan gazed at her with sadness in his eyes. “Is this…if this is what you truly want, Hana,” he said quietly, “I can give it to you. I can give you all you’re looking for, and more.”

    Hana licked her lips nervously, ready to shatter her crystalline-perfect life and take a run through the broken shards. “Oh, I want this, baby,” she said. “Completely legit.”